Page 6 of Bales and Brawn

“Everything’s put away, as you can see.”

“Did it all arrive?”

“Yep, Nova checked it all off, and the invoices are in the office.” I indicate the small sectioned-off area of the barn that holds just one desk, a chair, and a filing cabinet.

“Good, and thank you.”

I nearly choke at the expression of gratitude, and hide it with a cough.

“Right, I’ll be off, then. See you tomorrow.”

“Err, would you like a lift into town?”

I stare at him for a few seconds, not sure if I’ve heard correctly.

“Yes, sure, thank you,” I say, and quickly follow as he’s already striding toward his truck.

He doesn’t speak until we’re halfway along the road to Foggy Basin.

“My dad, he puts on a brave face, but he’s very ill. It’s his lungs. He has cysts and they can’t operate,” he says, staring fixedly ahead, his knuckles white from gripping the steering wheel.

“It must be hard for you all.” I’m not sure what else to say to this man who’s been shut up tight ever since I met him.

“It is, but thank you.” He stops in the lot of the Foggy Inn. “I appreciate you helping out.”

“Thanks. How am I doing?” I climb out of the car.

“The week’s not over yet.” He gives a tight smile before pulling away. I stare after the truck as a cloud of dust drifts in his wake, and I’m left with the unsettling feeling that Zane Dawson might just have made a joke.

CHAPTER FOUR

ZANE

I look up from greasing the mower cutting mechanism and expect to see a pair of fathoms-deep black eyes staring back at me. But I don’t, and somehow that unsettles me more. Not that I’ve gotten used to seeing Devin, but him not being here when I’m prepared for it creates a curious ache inside. A customer pulls into the yard and I straighten up to go serve them, shaking my head to rid myself of the feeling. It’s ridiculous. I can’t miss someone I don’t like. Maybe not liking him is the wrong way to describe it.

Devin’s a good worker, and he never complains, not so far anyway, but there’s something about him that makes my hair stand on end. Missing that sensation is like not being able to worry at a loose tooth once it’s been removed. Better in the long run, but oddly bereft without the habit of checking it’s still there.

Today is Devin’s day to be back in Sacramento. I can’t help wondering if he’ll actually return tomorrow. He said earlier in the week that he doesn’t like to settle down as he doesn’t like to be tied down. I can’t understand that; family is everything. I’ll still keep looking for more help in any case, as he said he was only after a temporary job. The feed store is starting to pick up, and looks like it’s going to be successful, but I still need reliable help for my plan to work.

Thinking about that, I look over at Nova. There are no customers, so he takes himself into the tiny office and sits down with a sigh, looking dejected instead of his usual sunny self. I watch as he takes out his phone and scrolls through it. I know he follows a lot of nail artists and influencers, so he’s probably watching some videos. Taking on the feed store is my way of raising money for him to go to college to become a nail technician. I just haven’t told him yet. Perhaps I should. When I reach the office door, he looks up suddenly and quickly puts his phone down.

“Whatcha looking at?” I ask.

“Nothing.” He shrugs and my heart breaks that he feels he has to hide his dreams from me.

“Were you looking at nail art? Ideas?”

‘Maybe.” He keeps his eyes cast down and picks at the frayed edge of his shorts.

“Do you still want to go to college?”

“I dunno.” His attention remains on his fidgeting fingers, and I know this isn’t the real Nova.

“Nova,” I say, and when he finally lifts his head I raise an eyebrow at him.

“Okay, well, yes, of course I do. But what’s the point of wanting something that I know we can’t afford. I’m going to spend my life here, flipping sacks and driving tractors. It sucks.”

I ignore the last comment as it’s my life and I happen to like it. Especially when I’m out in the fields, cutting and baling hay. But I know it’s not what Nova would choose.